Stiles, You're a Star
by AlphaOmegaPsi
Summary: Derek becomes a little obsessed with Stiles. Sterek, Stiles/OC, angst, dub-con/non-con.
1. Stiles, You're a Star

Warning: Contains dub-con that actually leans a lot more toward non-con

It all starts during Stiles and Scott's senior year of high school.

It might have started earlier, but what with the Alpha pack, Jackson's new role as a werewolf, and just the general unpleasantness of dealing with Peter on a daily basis once again, there really wasn't any time to focus on anything else. Lacrosse took a sharp nosedive for everyone in the pack that was on the team, because when it came down to a choice between not failing school and playing lacrosse, well...let's just say Coach Finstock was not exactly a happy man that season.

But when Senior year rolls around, everything sort of mellows out. Nothing threatens their lives, everyone's finally got control of their wolves, Peter is...well, he's still Peter, but he's picked up a few hobbies around town so he's not around as much.

It's actually kind of boring. And a little bit lonely.

So Derek decides one day that he'll go to a lacrosse game. He doesn't understand the sport at all, and is interested in it even less, but it's something to do, and the pull to be near his pack is strong. He doesn't have to let them know he's there. He'll hide behind the bleachers, play on his phone if he gets too bored. That's what he tells himself anyway.

That's not what happens.

As it turns out, it's difficult to see when you hide behind the bleachers, even for werewolves. So he creeps ever so slightly closer, bit by bit, until he's sitting on the very bottom step, perched on the edge like he's going to bolt any minute. It makes him nervous being in a crowd this large, but his pack's presence is a comfort, even if they might not actually realize he's here.

His eyes sweep the field, looking for Scott, Jackson, Isaac...he finds them all. And then his eyes fall on someone else. Someone he hadn't expected because, last he heard, he'd taken up permanent residence on the bench.

Stiles.

Of course, that was a while ago that he'd heard of his benchwarming status. He'd been practicing lately; his coach would have to be blind not to recognize all the hard work he's put into improving his physical prowess. Derek finds his eyes drawn to the young teen the entire game. It's almost hard to believe it's really him under all that equipment. He moves with more grace than he's ever seen the other boy exhibit, faster than he knew he was capable of. He's focused like Derek thought was impossible for Stiles, his heartbeat steady yet quick as he scores goal after goal.

After that, Derek can't get the image out of his head. He carefully hides behind a mask of stoicism whenever Stiles is around, but inside it's all he can do not to stare at him longingly. He starts noticing little things, like the way Stiles is finally starting to grow into himself, blossoming out of his awkward stage and filling out in all the right places. Once, he catches him wearing that blue and orange striped polo, the one he was forced to wear when posing as his cousin. It's too small on Stiles now, and stretches over his more defined abs. It's all Derek can do not to rip it off him to reveal the prize underneath.

Stiles spends a lot of time with the pack now. Derek sees the way that Stiles looks at him when he thinks he isn't looking, the way his heart races just the slightest bit faster when they talk. Which, okay, could be attributed to the fact that most of their talks include threats from Derek, but still, it's something.

Derek can admit to himself that he wants Stiles, but he's not so depraved as to proposition an underage boy. He'll wait. He'll do this right.

What Derek does not take into account, however, is that he's not the only one who wants him.

The news that Stiles has a date hits him like a slap to the face. He sulks a bit in the corner even as he tries to convince himself it doesn't matter. Stiles is in high school, of course he'll go on dates. It doesn't mean anything.

It doesn't stop him from following him, though.

He knows it's a bad idea, deep down inside he knows he should not be here, hidden behind a tree at the self-imposed "makeout point." He's not sure what he's expecting exactly, but it doesn't stop his heart from squeezing painfully when their voices fade, only to be replaced by the sound of moaning, and wet, inexperienced kisses. At some point, he slips away to howl mournfully into the empty night. The others don't say a word.

Her name is Cindy. She's cute and blonde and on the honor roll, apparently. Derek hates her immediately. She takes up most of Stiles' time. He doesn't come around anymore, and if he does, she's always with him. Derek turns to lifting weights to take out his aggression, but when most of them end up imbedded in the wall, the pack quickly puts a stop to that.

He knows he has to stop, has to move on and forget about Stiles, but for some reason he can't. He tries going out on a few dates with girls in bars, but they just remind him too much of Kate. Guys remind him too much of Stiles, and while he might be able to pretend with his eyes, every other cell in him knows the truth.

Then, Stiles' 18th birthday comes around.

They haven't really spoken in a while, but Derek still sort of considers Stiles a friend. He buys him a CD from a band he's almost certain Stiles likes. He doesn't have anything to wrap it in, so he just takes it over to the Stilinski house without it. Stiles greets him with a smile, so warm it almost melts Derek's heart.

"Hey, great! Presents!" He says he loves the CD, but Derek recognizes the familiar skip in his heartbeat that betrays his lie. Stiles invites him inside, and against his better judgment Derek accepts.

He asks how Cindy's doing, even though he doesn't care. It's too quiet; he wants to fill the silence with Stiles' voice, even if it is with him talking about _her._

He tunes out for a moment, until he catches the words "taking a break." He whirls around to catch Stiles, still in good spirits, babbling on and on about school and practice and work. All things he suddenly doesn't care about.

His mouth is on the other's before he even realizes what he's doing.

Stiles flails backward, eyes wide, heart beating at a mile a minute. He looks more awkward and unsure than he has in months, and Derek's wolf silently howls in joy at that. He made Stiles look like that. He takes a step forward again, and this time meets absolutely no resistance when their mouths crash together.

Derek knows Sheriff Stilinski isn't home, and won't be for a while longer. He wants to take advantage of that, so he slowly backs Stiles toward the stairs. Stiles seems to realize what he's doing and pulls away rather abruptly.

"Uh...w-wait, I don't know if that's..." Derek growls impatiently and picks the other up to throw him over his shoulder. This will be faster. He can hear Stiles saying something as he carries him up to his room, but he has no idea what it is because his brain is all wolf now, all instinct finally telling him he doesn't have to hold himself back anymore.

He throws Stiles on the bed and crawls in on top of him. The teen nervously pushes at his chest as Derek begins to mark up his neck, but he barely registers the feeble attempts.

"Derek, this is moving way too fast. I...I don't even know if I like guys like that. Please, can't we just talk? Please?" Derek ignores him, pressing his palm into the crotch of Stiles' jeans. The arousal is thick in the air. He knows Stiles wants him just as much as he wants Stiles, and he's not going to wait around this time for another Cindy to come into the picture.

He quickly undresses the other boy and flips him over onto his stomach. His voice is muffled by the pillow his face is pressed into. He's so beautiful, Derek thinks, running his hand all over the pale skin, littered with dark moles. He's overcome with the need to take, to make his own. He steadies Stiles' hip with one hand and slowly pushes his aching arousal inside of him.

So tight, so tight, so incredibly tight. It's borderline painful as he pushes his hips slowly forward until he bottoms out. He waits a moment before he starts to thrust, cries escaping Stiles' mouth with every move of his hips. He covets each one as the treasure it is, the evidence of his pleasure. The teen's heart is racing faster than he's ever heard it, which spurns his wolf into moving faster.

Derek cums long before he means to, the combination of tightness and the scent of Stiles too much for him to hold back. He reaches down to help Stiles, only to find him completely soft. As he comes down from his orgasm, the copper scent of blood attacks his nose. He realizes that it's coming from Stiles, and when he pulls out, a red line trails its way down the other boy's leg, following by a white as Derek's semen leaks out of him.

Derek realizes that Stiles is sobbing into his pillow, and reaches out, but receives a sharp, "Don't!" when his hand comes close. Stiles turns on him, his face burning with white hot anger and shame. Tears are still leaking from his eyes, but they do nothing to mask the unabashed hatred. Hatred directed at Derek.

"Get the hell out," Stiles says, and Derek wants to protest, wants to tell Stiles how beautiful he is and how much he loves him. Instead, he stays silent, and tucks himself back into his pants. His cock is covered in an alarming amount of blood. He turns, wanting to apologize, but when met with such an expression on Stiles' face, he cows. All his courage flees, And Derek follows right behind it.


	2. Derek Was a Friend of Mine

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Letting himself get caught in a trap. He should know better by now. He should know how dangerous hunting is without a pack. But he's so hungry. Even now, his stomach twists with it, the emptiness. He's swinging by a single foot five feet in the air, and all he wants is just a morsel of food, just a taste. He's a pathetic excuse for a werewolf.

"Well...it's been a long time since I've seen that face." Derek's ears prick up. He hasn't heard that voice in over ten years. Not since the day he shattered its owners innocence and left his home town for good.

Stiles.

"Since...Scott's funeral. Right?" Stiles is leaning against a nearby tree, crossbow held loosely in one hand. Derek isn't fooled by the relaxed stance. He can see the muscles coiled beneath the loose clothing, ready to spring at any moment. He swallows to wet his parched throat, to no avail. He hasn't had water almost as long as he hasn't had food.

"I don't remember," he says hoarsely. "That was eight years ago." It's a lie and they both know it. He remembers Scott's funeral all too well. Remembers that sick feeling of loss, like someone had reached inside of him and ripped something vital out. He remembers Allison and Stiles, perched by the grave as if Scott would come crawling back out at any moment.

"Hm. Where's your pack?" Stiles' smirk is mocking, almost challenging, and Derek's blood boils at the sight of it. He knows all too well. He heard the cries of his betas as their lives were cruelly snuffed out. Isaac, Erica, and Boyd all...achingly silent at the hands of the man they once called friend. Peter disappeared, taking Jackson with him, severing their ties with Derek as they went. He doesn't know their fate.

"An Alpha Omega is such a rare sight." Derek feels the rope on his leg loosen half a second before he topples to the ground in a heap. Stiles released the trap. Now he's nothing more than a shivering, curled-up ball before the other man, without even the strength to get up and run. "Such a sad sight."

"Shut up," Derek growls, fixing his red-eyed glare on Stiles' face. He's closer now, crossbow still at his side, as if to emphasize how little of a threat he views Derek. He's so close the wolf can smell him.

He smells like her.

"How's Allison," he asks, uncaring in her well-being but aching to know just what she was to Stiles that he would smell so much like her. Even now, after everything, the ache for him burns strong.

Stiles hesitates for only a moment, then, "We're married now. She's pregnant with our second child."

Derek feels as if all the air has been knocked from his lungs. "You're...a father," he says, breathless.

"I am." Stiles trains the crossbow on Derek. "Despite what you did to me, I got up and I kept on going. And I vowed to track down and kill every single one of your kind."

Derek doesn't want to beg, but the stuttered "please" falls from his lips before he can stop it. It's pathetic and needy and he knows it. Stiles coos at him mockingly, caressing his face with the edge of the crossbow bolt.

"So the big bad wolf knows how to say please. Well...better late than never." His face morphs into rage, and his free hand bunches in the werewolf's tattered shirt. "I loved you, you know," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "As a friend. Maybe as more. I trusted you, more than you deserved. But you took that trust, and you destroyed it, and I have hated you ever since."

"Is that why you killed the others?" Derek asks. "Because of me? Did you...kill Scott too?"

Stiles' eyes widen and he throws Derek down, stamping down on his ribcage hard enough to knock the wind out of him. "How dare you," he hisses through clenched teeth, a face that speaks volumes of pain. "Scott was killed by a wolf like you. An Omega. I killed her the night of his funeral. I did it slowly. I watched the light go out of her eyes as she took her last breath. But it wasn't enough." The toe of his boot pressed down onto Derek's throat, cutting off his airflow. "Scott was an exception, but the rest of you are monsters. So I made it my life's mission to rid the world of you."

Derek gasps desperately, clutching at Stiles' leg, his gaze trained on the other man's own cold one. This isn't the Stiles he knew. There's nothing left of him in those cold eyes. It's his fault. Scott's death may have been the final tipping point, but that hatred in his eyes is for him and him alone.

"I'm...sorry..." he manages, and it's almost like a switch has been flicked on the other man's face. Surprise, doubt, fear, compassion, all in an instant over Stiles' face before the foot is gone and he takes in a gasping breath.

"You're sorry." Derek lifts his head, rubbing at his bruised and battered throat. Stiles is standing just away from him, body turned, head down. His shoulders are shaking. "You're sorry?!" Derek can hear the rage in his voice and quickly backs away. "You don't get to be sorry, Derek. Not now. Not ten years later." He sinks to his knees, and his breath is coming in gasps, like so many years ago when he used to suffer panic attacks. Sometimes Derek would help him through those. He wonders if Allison does now.

Derek crawls closer, hesitantly, until his hands find the other's tensed shoulders. He feels Stiles flinch, but he doesn't pull away, and Derek pulls him in closer instead, until the other is tucked against him. It's easy to feel the difference the years have made. Stiles is strong and solid beneath him, while Derek is close to withering away.

"I never wanted to hurt you," he says, breathing in the scent of Stiles. It's been so long. "Please forgive me."

The next thing he feels is pain, erupting in his gut and spreading throughout him. He keens, clutching at the bolt lodged deep within him. He loses his grip on Stiles as the other man moves away.

"Those arrows are made from pure mountain ash," he explains as Derek writhes on the ground. "They're soft and brittle, meant to dissolve in a werewolf's bloodstream." Stiles crouches next to Derek on the leaf-strewn ground, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "Much more potent than those wolfsbane bullets. These are meant to kill a wolf in a matter of minutes."

"Please..." Derek gasps. The pain is like burning now, searing through his veins. He reaches for Stiles and the other man grasps his hand, almost tender.

"There's nothing I can do to stop it now," he says, a tinge of regret in his voice. "This is your punishment, Derek."

Derek gasps shakily as Stiles pulls the bolt from his skin, then pulls him into an embrace. His head rests on the other man's shoulder. He can hear his heartbeat and sighs happily, closing his eyes.

"I wish you could have met my son," Stiles says, his words resonating through Derek's being. "His name is Scott. He...he has his mother's dimples. And that stupid curly hair...we don't know where that came from." He takes a shaky breath, the entirety of him moving with it. "He looks just like him, Derek."

Derek smiles. The pain is beginning to fade now, though he doesn't fool himself into thinking it's because he's healing, or that he'll be okay. Stiles is right; this is his punishment. If this is what it takes to earn Stiles' forgiveness, he'll gladly accept it.

"You would have loved him." A drop of moisture on his cheek. Derek reaches up to touch the other man's face, feeling the tears there.

"I already do," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "Because he's yours."

A rough sob and the press of lips against his own. He doesn't even have the strength to press back, barely has enough to reach for Stiles' hand and hold it to his chest.

They say when you're about to die, your whole life flashes before your eyes. For Derek, it was just the one memory. The memory of his family, slowly burning to death inside that house. The knowledge it was his fault, now burned away to leave room for forgiveness. His family's forgiveness. His own forgiveness. And Stiles, who never had a stake in it, but whose forgiveness he cherished above all others. Stiles forgave him for this long ago, and now, he was forgiven again.

The last thing he hears is Stiles' voice - and it doesn't really matter what he's saying - and then he's gone.


End file.
